Delilah (working title)
by SilverSpoken63
Summary: After a long and grueling night, Sam and Dean Winchester want nothing more than some food and a couple hours of sleep. When a girl tries to run from the diner, pieces of the past resurface.


The girl sort of stumbled into the diner. Her crimson-colored hair was tangled and she gave a wild-eyed stare at the hostess, who was trying not to make eye contact. Why did the crazies have to come in on her shift? If it wasn't a smelly homeless man, it was a cracked-out person, just like the girl appeared to be.

"What year is it?" She blurted, not making eye contact. She was taking in all of the people chatting merrily and the smells of bacon and eggs frying; desperately trying to figure out where she was. The diner was in an obscure, out of town location, only those who were "just passing by" ever stopped in. It was actually nice sometimes, but having regulars usually meant better tips.

The hostess clicked her tongue and sighed, the red-head's eyes darted back to her. "Do you want a table or what?" She could be rude when she wanted and this _crazy_ was definitely someone she wanted out of her sight; there was no sympathy for those who couldn't keep it together. The red head stared, blankly and the hostess became aware of how obscure her eyes were: one a sky blue, the other was deep emerald green. She might have felt threatened by her beauty had this girl been sane.

"Yes." The voice was nearly a whisper, clearly not wanting the voices to hear her response. The hostess rolled her eyes and sat her in Tammy's section; revenge for flirting with the guy she had been interested in last week. She chuckled slightly as she signaled to Tammy. "Enjoy your meal," was the hostess' final words to the freak. She bounded back to her stand and began filing her nails.

A waitress with bleach blonde hair and a mini skirt trotted by and completely ignored the new girl sitting in her section and headed directly for the booth behind her. There were two men in a booth, both appearing exhausted and famished. Not to mention very good looking Tammy thought. She couldn't tell if they were brothers or friends; one had darker brown hair and blue eyes, while the other had brown hair that was slightly lighter and green eyes. She didn't care which one it was, but Tammy wanted one.

"Good morning!" She said brightly, crouching down to the level of the table and so she could get a better view.

"'Morning," said the blue-eyed guy. "I'll just have a coffee, thanks." Tammy nodded and jotted down his easy to remember order.

Tammy's eyes shifted to the other guy. "I'll have some pie. Whatever you got is good." He flung the plastic cover menu against the wall, where it normally sat.

"Anything for you," Tammy said and wrote down his also short order. "If you need anything, let me know." She got up and walked away to put in the boys' orders. They sat quietly, trying to stay coherent enough to eat, drink, and head back to the hotel for several well deserved hours of sleep.

The red-head in the booth froze; she recognized one of the voices. Fear and excitement began coursing through her veins. The waitress finally approached her and Tammy noticed something was off about her next customer. She chewed her gum several times, just staring at the odd girl. "What can I get _you_?" Her voice changed dramatically from the one she used with the men to one of complete disdain.

"I'll…I'll have some French toast. And eggs. Oh, and some bacon," her voice was still soft, to where Tammy had to bend down to listen to her. "And some tea. Hot tea," the girl finished. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. When was the last time she had any actual food? The more she was out, the more lively and human she was becoming. It had been much too long. The waitress returned quickly; she had a cup of boiled water and some tea bags for the girl, and the coffee the guy had ordered. The red-head stared almost sadly at her cup.

Tammy caught her expression and threw a hand on her hip. "What, something not good enough?" The two guys looked briefly at the waitress, trying to make a scene.

"No, nothing," the girl in the booth fell silent. She didn't want to argue. No, she didn't want people to notice her. The waitress sighed and stormed off to the kitchen, a little disgruntled that a fight hadn't broke out. She sat there, staring at her boiled water and watched as the tea slowly began to steep. Her first day back on earth and she had to settle for bagged tea and a hateful waitress. There was some arrogance there, but there was more sadness behind it, knowing that there wasn't anywhere else she could go.

The waitress returned about fifteen minutes later with a plate of food; she practically dropped it on the table. "Need anything?" The tone almost had a threat behind it, daring the girl to find some snide retort, but there was only a shake of her head, indicating her presence was no longer needed. The waitress smugly walked to the table behind her and placed a piece of apple pie in front of one of the men. "Thanks sweetheart," he said his voice gruff. She giggled obnoxiously and waited until he tasted his food. "We're good here," he said, mouth full of pie. Tammy huffed and stalked off.

"Wonder who pissed in her cheerios this morning," the guy said. As the girl began to take a sip of her tea, she had overheard the remark and snorted into her tea, making it splash everywhere. Was that her first laugh? She had forgotten what it was like to find something funny and almost wished herself at the table behind her. Still, that deep voice had gotten under her skin, unnerving her.

The other man just stared at his brother. "Dean, be nice," he chided. Pulling out his cellphone, he began listening to voicemails, occasionally jotting a note down on a napkin. After a few minutes he returned the phone to his pocket. "Well, Bobby's called twice and he seems concerned. Apparently there's been strange activity about an hour from where we are."

"That seems pretty damn ironic if you ask me," Dean said, putting his fork on the plate. "What kind of _strange_ activity are we talkin?"

"He said something about a patch of scorched earth, made the news. People are calling it a 'devil's tramping ground'." He took a sip of coffee and then rubbed his eyes. The Winchesters battled evil and the paranormal with ease, sometimes. Usually, they had to rely on whatever their father taught them and enlisted the aid of some pretty wild characters sometimes. Nothing was coincidence in their lives and that was one of the few things they were sure of. Sam Winchester was tired and was growing more tired the longer they sat there. A few hours of sleep and he'd be ready to tackle the next project, but knew his brother wouldn't let him rest as long as there was a case nearby.

"Think it's serious?" Dean asked. "Or is it like that place in North Carolina we visited? Where that gang kept burning the ground and freaking people out." Sighing, he recalled the week-long investigation a few years back. Near the small town of Bennett, people had always heard stories of a 'Devil's Tramping Ground' where the devil himself would appear and walk in a circle, thinking and plotting; as a result, nothing grew there and were events would happen. It turned out that it was a gang, where their leader had been possessed, hell-bent on keeping the fear alive. Several murders occurred and the brothers quickly obliterated the demon. They haven't been back or heard anything sense.

"I'm not sure. We should look into it though," Sam replied while taking a final sip of his coffee. "C'mon, let's get some sleep first, or I won't be able to do anything." He threw some cash on the table, leaving enough for the meal and a decent tip. Maybe it would make the waitress just a little nicer, he thought. Dean nodded and he stood up, stretching and a wave of fatigue finally flooded over him.

The girl in the booth watched the brothers leave and she felt a deep pain of emotion. Thoughts of her sister rushed to her mind and she wished so badly she could call, could reach out to her, but knew that could never happen. She bit into her toast; the butter had melted and she had spread just a small amount of jam across the top. It was the second best thing she had tasted in a lifetime; at least that's what she told herself.

The Winchesters were about to exit the diner and Dean stopped, checking his pocket. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Sam turned and looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"I Left my phone on the table, apparently. Go out to the car, I'll be back." He turned back to his table. As he walked past the booth before his, something stopped him and he quickly looked down, noticing the girl had a peculiar shade of red hair. It was as if someone had dipped her head in blood and let the shade dry into something terrifying and violent. At that precise moment, she chose to look up and he felt a pang of recognition as her different colored eyes bored into his green ones. He noticed her pupils dilate and he felt her fear trample through his soul.

She clutched the table and pushed herself out of the booth quickly, trying to rush past people getting up and waitresses trying to deliver orders. The front door was close and she heard the deep voice rumble from behind. "Sammy, stop her!" Sam barely heard the order as the girl tried to break into a faster sprint; he threw himself after her and they both fell to the ground, Sam nearly crushing the girl to death. She looked around, trying to figure out an escape.

Dean walked calmly out of the diner, making small apologies and excuses for the seemingly deranged female. He also knew Sam would catch her and was proved right as he notice a firm grip his brother had on her arm. She was taking in massive amounts of air. "You'll make yourself faint if you keep that up," he said. Grabbing her by the shirt collar, he shoved her hard against the side of the black Impala. "Exactly how and why do I know you?"

"Dean, we're causing as scene," Sam whispered. A couple of people looked on with intensity as Dean tried to question his captive. Realizing he couldn't continue in broad daylight, he gestured to Sam who unlocked the car door and slid in the backseat with the girl. Dean walked around and sat in the driver's seat. "Make one attempt to escape and it won't be pretty." The car roared to life and quickly peeled out of the diner's parking lot, in search for a more intimate place.

They drove closer into town and a half-lit motel sign came into view: The Hillside Inn. Except, there was no hillside and it looked more like a run-down motel than a quaint inn. It didn't matter, however, so Dean pulled into the first parking spot he saw. After running inside to the receptionist's desk, he returned moments later with a key. Making sure no one was watching them; Sam and Dean brought the girl, who had remained surprisingly quiet, inside.

The room was dimly lit, even with every light on. Years of neglect had built up and were quite noticeable; dust in the corners of the ceiling and the comforters on the bed were visibly moth-eaten. Sam stayed near the door and Dean pulled out a chair for their "guest". She hesitated then sat and immediately began picking at her nails, her nerves had subsided some, but she still couldn't figure out what was going on.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, trying to return to a more menacing state. She looked up at him. He knew her, he was sure of it, but the question was still how? "Answer me!" He barked, causing Sam and the stranger to jump.

Her eyes shifted to the door, then the window, trying to formulate an escape plan. "Delilah." Her voice was shaky, as if unsure of her name.

Memories of Delilah surfaced from the dark pools of Dean's mind and soon, he was drowning in them. It couldn't be her, it wasn't possible. He stared hard at her and realized it was in fact Delilah. He sighed heavily and sat down at the table.

"What, not happy to recognize me?" Delilah asked, trying to sound a little braver.

"What…how…I just…" For once, Dean was speechless and couldn't find the exact question he wanted to start with. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he thought for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Delilah's eyes softened. "Dean, it's okay. I don't hold anything against you." She got up and moved her chair towards the table, to face Dean. Sam gave up and sat down as well and tried to go through his mind as to when Delilah and Dean could have met.

"I think you need to start talking," Sam finally said. "You can't just leave me out of the loop." His comment was directed to Dean, who promptly looked at his brother. Memories rose to the forefront of his mind and he winced as if it was all happening again.

Finally, Dean rubbed his eyes. "Sammy, there's no other way I can say it: she's from Hell." Sam eyed Delilah and reached for the knife he kept closely at him at all times. Dean reached over, patted his brother's jacket, indicating he needed to stop before the situation became even more hostile.

Before Dean could continue, a rustling was heard, the sound of something arriving upon soft wings. Dean looked to the other side of the room and a man in a tan trench coat stood warily. His ocean blue eyes quickly looked around the room and when they landed upon Delilah, he lunged. Grabbing her by her throat, he shoved her against the nearest wall; Delilah winced in pain. With one hand, he easily held Delilah against the wall and Dean rushed to her side, not the man's.


End file.
